


Sleeping Arrangements

by a_taller_tale



Series: Five Reds and a Baby [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Fluff, Kid Fic, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slowly burning forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Grif looked down from the bed, and vaguely gestured at Simmons, a grown six-foot-tall man in an awkward twisted knot trying to huddle under a top sheet and some clean-ish laundry on the concrete floor of their base. “Why.”





	Sleeping Arrangements

It was after 1am when Simmons stumbled into the room he shared with Grif and it took him a moment to remember where he was and what he was doing. 

It had been like that the last few weeks. Ever since Sarge had surprised Red Team with a clone of himself. Except the clone was of Grif, and it was an infant. Grif insisted that since Simmons had convinced them that they couldn’t return said human infant, Simmons had to help with its care. And it was a little involved. And exhausting. And as if he didn’t know, the HUD in his cyborg eye was flashing “low battery,” which just meant he desperately needed some sleep. 

Simmons would accuse Grif of laziness when it came to taking care of "Little D," but behind his usual casual bored act, Simmons could recognize the nervous energy. Grif was _weird_ about the baby. Not that he didn’t want him. He’d definitely proved he wanted to keep him by grabbing him back from the freelancers when the Blues kidnapped him, but more like he was... Ugh, he was just weird about the baby. 

The two of them were fine now though. Grif had actually volunteered to feed Dexter his bottle, which was progress. Little D’s eyes had drooped shut as he was finishing it, but his grip on it hadn’t loosened til every drop was gone. Not wanting to jostle him with switching him to Simmons, he'd left the two of them while he went to take the bottle back to the kitchen. While he was gone, Grif had passed out in a sprawl on the bed, one arm protectively encircling the baby stretched out next to him. 

Simmons went to rub his eyes, and smacked himself in the face with the empty baby bottle. He’d meant to rinse it out and put in the dishwasher, but instead he’d brought it back to the room like a sleepwalker. 

…Yeah, too late to go back now. 

He tossed the bottle at the rising pile of miscellaneous baby stuff they’d been collecting or cobbling together or breaking that Simmons hadn’t had time to sort through between feedings every two hours, and less sleep between both Grif and Simmons than that. 

Normally, a pile like this would make his teeth itch until it was put away, but there was nowhere to put it, and no matter how often Simmons tried to get rid of it, by the end of the day, it was just the most convenient place to throw stuff while scrambling to keep a tiny fragile human being alive. 

The _problem_ with the convenient baby landfill pile was that Simmons’ bed was underneath it. 

In the delirium of taking care of said tiny fragile human being, and catching sleep whenever they could, Simmons had just been napping with the baby and crashing on Grif’s bed. He _could_ just climb in Grif’s bunk and pretend he’d fallen asleep there accidentally again. They were too tired for it to be anything weird. This was about survival. 

…Until Donut made a comment about them sharing a bed during dinner. A fake innocence in his tone and a sly smile that Simmons had always suspected he had under his helmet, but now could see very clearly with Red Team’s recent baby-friendly-no-helmet-policy. 

His ears burned at the memory, and he reluctantly turned away from the serene picture Grif made sleeping in a bed that didn’t include a garbage bag of Little Dexter’s used diapers from the day. 

The pile was hopeless. There was no way Simmons was going to be able to clear it off and get in his bed without waking up Dexter and his healthy set of vocal chords. Then no one would be sleeping. 

Okay… Okay. No problem. 

No bedroll, but Simmons was an army man. Had been in the military for years. He’d slept in armor outside before and he could do it again. It actually wasn’t that uncomfortable inside. 

…But if Dexter woke up, it might scare him. He’d gotten used to Lopez, selectively, but he still shrieked when anyone else was wearing a helmet and he couldn’t see their face. 

With a sigh, Simmons grabbed some laundry out of the clean basket on the floor. He balled up Grif’s sweatshirt to use as a pillow, and neatly spread a few other shirts out to make a base for his makeshift bed. Then he shook out a top sheet that Grif must have kicked off his bed to cover himself with. 

Simmons settled on the cold concrete floor of the base, completely satisfied with his life and his choices, his spine cracking satisfyingly as he lay flat. 

There. That wasn’t so bad. And if he laid on the side with the robot parts he wouldn’t get cold or pins-and-needles. 

Dexter would be on the floor a lot when he started to move. He didn't move much right now, other than rolling over to Blue Base, but Simmons had been devouring child development manuals. That wouldn’t last long. Could he convince Sarge they needed wall-to-wall carpeting? Kimball would be fine with it, but Sarge still wanted it to look like a military base. Maybe if they were able to keep Donut out of the loop. His color choices were always… unique. 

Simmons was close to dosing off despite the cold and discomfort when he felt the paralyzing sensation of someone watching him. 

He rolled to face the bed and check if Little D was stirring, but instead met larger brown eyes shining in the half light. 

His heart skipped a beat, but it was just Grif, staring steadily at him. 

“You scared me!” Simmons said in a harsh whisper. “Why didn’t you say you were awake?” 

“Why,” Grif said, eyes still puffy from sleep, then let out a jaw-cracking yawn, a big arm adjusting the circle supporting his infant son in his arms. 

“-Why? Why what? I asked _you_ why first!” Simmons snapped defensively, then clapped a hand over his mouth. He waited a few tense seconds, but Dexter was still dead weight, breathing steadily and honestly kind of loud in the quiet for such a little human. 

Grif shook his head and then vaguely gestured down at Simmons from the bed, a grown six-foot-tall man in an awkward twisted knot trying to huddle under a top sheet and some clean-ish laundry on the floor. “Why,” he repeated. 

It was completely unfair that Grif could make him feel like he was being grilled by detectives that were desperate to pin a murder on him when he was just sleeping on the floor in his own room. He had a right to be there and sleep however and wherever he wanted! 

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to wake you up?” he tried. 

“....” It was also completely unfair that Grif didn’t even have to _say_ what he thought about that explanation for Simmons to read how stupid he thought that was. His eyebrows barely even moved. 

“Okay, well, there’s a bunch of garbage on my bed, and I didn’t want to wake Dexter up, and I'm in the military. I can tolerate sleeping on the floor, _Grif.”_

“Okay…” Grif just kept staring at him, grumpy and judging. "But you haven't been sleeping on the floor til now." 

Why’d he have to point shit like that out? Simmons was too tired to argue with him right now. And they were wasting precious sleeping time! There were several good reasons he was on the floor right now, why did he have to be interrogated about them? It wasn’t fair! 

So Donut had caught them sleeping together a few times and he made a few comments, and usually Simmons could ignore whatever comments and winks Donut had now, but he was so tired, and it was totally accidental they kept falling asleep together, and Simmons didn’t really have a good excuse tonight, and he had to start breaking this habit or _everyone was going to get the wrong idea!_

They were just two dudes trying their best to take care of a baby their sergeant bought out of a shitty catalog that didn’t come with a comprehensive instruction manual. They were doing their best, Donut! 

Grif patted the bed next to him. 

Simmons scowled. “I really am very comfortable down here.” 

“Are you,” Grif said in the flattest tone possible. 

“Yup, so comfortable. This is even better than my bed.” 

“Uh-huuuuh,” Grif drawled, drawing the syllables out. “So you’re not afraid of spiders crawling on your face down there or anything.” 

_Oh, fuck you._

“Nope. They’re just as likely to crawl on you when you’re sleeping in a bed. And this is so good for my back.” Simmons shifted and his spine cracked audibly again. 

“Yeah, I can hear that.” 

“Yup. So no worries. Just go back to sleep.” He waved his hand up at Grif as if to say _'at ease, carry on, nothing to see here.'_

Grif frowned deeply, and Simmons could see the wheels slowly turning. It was close to 2am, did Grif _always_ have to do that thing he did? Spin logic circles til Simmons began to doubt which way was up? 

Sometimes talking to Grif was like playing chess, and chess had always kind of stressed Simmons out. Especially when they used timers. He preferred solitaire. It was less pressure, and less irritating than when Grif made a move he wasn’t prepared for. 

"...The baby's definitely gonna wake up if you're not up here,” Grif said. 

_Fuck._ Simmons’ head snapped up, and Grif looked down at the sleeping infant pointedly. He was wearing the same bored sleepy expression, but a smug aura was emanating from his teammate. It said _'check-mate.'_

Simmons ground his teeth. That bastard, using Dexter against him. 

“He’ll wake up either way, Grif. He’s a baby,” Simmons said, crossing his arms over his stupid sheet stubbornly. 

Grif’s cocky look dropped, and he whined a little. “You’re really gonna leave me here alone with him?” 

“What? You’re not alone with him. I’m _right here._ ” 

“If he wakes up and you’re not here, that’s at least ten seconds before you can get here, and you know he likes you better, and I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Simmons blinked. Grif sounded serious. 

“I could panic, and grab the remote instead of a bottle,” Grif continued, slightly faster. “I can’t do this alone, dude. He’s tiny and _loud_ and you're the nerd who read all the books about how to make him stop being loud.” 

Simmons’ tired brain was working hard to process what Grif was saying and _why_ , but Grif was talking too fast now, and it might be easier to just get in the bed with him so he’d shut up. 

There were reasons Simmons wanted to sleep on the cold hard floor. Totally valid reasons that made sense, but now they didn’t really make sense, and Grif seemed to want him there, which also didn’t make sense. 

Simmons whined in frustration, and that’s when the baby let out his own cry. _Shit._

“Look Simmons, you woke him up.” Grif made a big show of patting the baby’s _arm_ ineffectually. 

"I hate you. I really do,” Simmons groaned. But he got up off the floor, and Grif scootched up so his back was against the wall, and there was room for Simmons to sit in the bed and pick up Dexter. 

The baby didn’t need anything, but it still took a few minutes to soothe him back to sleep. By the time Little D settled down in Simmons' lap, his small hand gripping Simmons’ finger tightly, Grif had also fallen asleep again. He was curled around the outside of them protectively, his warmth radiating against Simmons' back, totally relaxed and completely trusting in Simmons to take care of his son. 

Simmons was warmer on the bed and still exhausted, and decided to "forget" to get back on the floor or attempt to clear off his own bed. No reason to jostle Little D or Grif. They all needed the rest. 


End file.
